


By Grace, My Heart Grows Stronger

by flinchflower, nubianamy



Series: The Donutverse [38]
Category: Glee
Genre: Backstory, Discipline, Dom/sub, Donutverse, F/M, Gilbert and Sullivan, Military, Polyamory, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl Howell is a lieutenant getting ready to go back to dental school, at the same time he is reinventing himself as a professional Dom. Then he meets Shelby Corcoran and her husband Davis Lawton. Backstory in the Donutverse. Dom/sub, discipline, het (Tess/Carl, Carl/Shelby).</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Grace, My Heart Grows Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> This is more backstory for Carl, aka Hot Dentist, aka Lieutenant Carl Jesse Howell, and his relationship with Shelby Corcoran and her husband Davis Lawton. It follows Hey Soldier Boy.
> 
> I had not intended to post this story until it was complete, but it provides some backstory to the 50 Kinky Ways chapter we wrote the other day. So you get the beginning, and that's something, at least. I'll write the rest eventually. I recommend you read this first, and then the 50 KW chapter (#19: Handcuffs). Warnings here for discussion of Dom/sub and discipline, and some het (Tess/Carl). 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> -amy

 

_Maybe there's no haven in this world for tender age_  
 _My heart beat like the wings of wild birds in a cage_  
 _My greatest hope my greatest cause to grieve  
_ _And my heart flew from its cage and it bled upon my sleeve_

_\- The Indigo Girls, "Prince of Darkness"_

**December 1990, Edgewater, Colorado**

Davis met Bebe outside the girls' locker room, and he could tell from the stormy expression on her face exactly what the result of the pregnancy test had been. She just dashed the tears from her face and struggled to shove her feet into her boots before hurrying out the side door of the gymnasium. She was quick, but Davis wasn't going to let her get away. "Wait," he called.

"I can't," she called back, shaking her head. "This is - too much. If I don't get out of this building I'm going to  _explode._ "

"Then I'm coming with you," he insisted, taking her hand. She glared at him, but let him follow her out to the picnic table on the other side of the parking lot.

From here, the high school looked far smaller and less important than it seemed when they were in the middle of classes. Bebe paused, struggling with her tears, before she finally let Davis take her in his arms and hug her tight.

"It feels like I should be careful," he whispered.

She growled at him. "Forget that. I'm the same person I was yesterday."

"No way." He held her at arm's length, astonished. "Are you kidding? You're carrying  _a child."_

"Yeah, and I'm still me, okay?" She was as determined as Davis had ever seen her - which was no small feat. "There's no way I'm going to let this slow me down. Baby or no baby, I'm getting out of this nowhere town."

"Next year, you mean... right? You're not thinking about taking off in the middle of junior year?" He watched her anxiously until she finally shook her head, sighing.

"No. I don't think I could do that. I mean, I'm going to have enough trouble being a singer and performer without shooting myself in the foot and dropping out of high school. I'm sticking around."

"Good," he sighed, relieved. "Because the idea of being without you - I can't think of anything worse than that. Wherever you go, I'm going to be right there with you."

Bebe's smile was brilliant, and Davis felt the familiar flush of love for her. He perched on the picnic table, beckoning her to sit between his legs in front of him. She leaned her chin on his knee, and they watched the traffic drive by on Pierce Street in silence for a few minutes.

"So what  _are_  you going to do?" he asked.

Bebe shrugged. "Have the baby, I guess. I mean, I could never..." She sat straight up and stared at him then, furrowing her brow. "You didn't think I would ever  _take its life?"_

"No," he said hastily. "No, I didn't really think you... no. I just wanted to know what you were thinking. Maybe you don't even know yet. You don't have to have it all figured out."

This was only partly true. Bebe was organized, determined and driven. Every bit of her screamed  _I'm in charge._  Davis got to see her soft side sometimes, but nobody got to tell her what to do, regardless, not even him, and they'd been best friends since fourth grade. If it didn't fit in with her dream for her own life, it wasn't going to happen. And this definitely didn't. She nodded.

"I think I'll talk with my sister," she said. "She and Nathan have been trying to have a baby for two years. Maybe they'd want this one."

Davis tried hard not to clutch at her arms. "You're going to give it up?"

"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to have a baby at sixteen," she snapped. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know." He shook his head, feeling the confusion weighing him down. He couldn't  _think_  when Bebe was feeling uncertain.

She gripped the edge of the picnic bench hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "My mother's going to kill me. She already thinks we're bad kids, and she doesn't even know half the stuff we've done."

He reached forward to rescue her hands from splinters, and chafed them between his, breathing on them to warm them. His breath puffed out into the air, leaving trails of water vapor behind. "Bebe..." He took a deep breath, and let it out. "Let's get married."

She snorted. "Whatever."

"No, I'm serious," he insisted. "We should. Maybe you're not ready to be a mother, but I'm not going to stand by and watch people shame you for our choices."

Bebe gazed up at his face, a curious smile spreading on her lips. "Why, Davis. Who's suddenly grown a pair?" She squinted at him. "You're serious."

"Yes." Davis laughed, feeling the butterflies in his stomach coalesce into a squadron. "I'm scared to death, but... I don't plan on leaving you. There's no reason we shouldn't get married." He gathered her small form close in his arms, sitting there between his legs, and felt her sigh in response. "And after we graduate, we'll go to college somewhere together, and take the world by storm."

"You know what?" She kissed his arm where it crossed her chest. "I think you're completely nuts. And... yes."

He twisted her around to face him. "What? Did you just... what?"

"Yes," she said, her brilliant smile gracing him with another burst of emotion. "I said yes. Let's get married. You're going places, Davis, with your grades, and you're an awesome performer, and together - we'll be an unstoppable force."

He forgot every thought about being careful with her, and just grabbed her up into his arms, barely able to catch his breath. "Oh, my god," he said, as she laughed. "You really will?"

"There's nobody in the world I'd rather be with for the rest of my life," she said, hugging him back.

"I love you so much." He buried his face into her dark curls. "And I'll take care of you while you're pregnant, I will..."

"Now let's not go overboard. You're creeping me out." She pulled back, gazing at the high school. "I think I hear Mr. Reynolds calling me. We're totally going to get in trouble for being out here."

Davis knew she was right, but at the moment, it didn't matter one bit. He stood up and took her hand. "Let them give us detention. When's the last time  _you_  got in trouble, anyway?" He gave her a smile. "So, are you ready to return to the prison yard, Mrs. Lawton?"

She made a face. "Hey, who says I'll be taking your name, doofus? I have big dreams of seeing  _Bebe Corcoran_  in lights on a marquee someday."

"And you will," he promised. "If I have anything to say about it. Come on. If we hurry, we should still have time to get some lunch before American history."

* * *

**April 1991, Fort Irwin, CA**

Jesse stumbled into Tess' office with barely a nod for her secretary. His head was reeling. "Tess?" he called, knocking on the door frame. "Do you have a - oh, excuse me." Seeing who was there, he straightened up smartly and saluted. "Sir."

Jesse looked back and forth between Major Riordan and Major Black with an unsettled feeling. Ordinarily he would have gone right to Black with a problem, but the unique nature of the issue had sent him to Major Riordan for the support only she could provide.

Black gave Jesse a faint smile. "Lieutenant Howell," he said. "I'm surprised to see you here. Make an old man's night a little better and tell me you've finished that paperwork that was left from last week."

"Yes, sir - well, almost," he amended, with a glance at Tess. "I just had a... matter to discuss with Major Riordan about Corporal Andrews. I'll just wait outside until you're done."

"I think our own matter's been concluded," Black said, rising from his chair. He picked up his hat and gave a nod to Tess. "We can deal with the rest another night. It's about time I headed for dinner, myself."

"Major Black," she said, standing. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do in the meantime. I'm second shift tomorrow."

"Excellent." He ran a stern eye over Jesse. "Don't keep him up too late, Major. If I remember that stack of paperwork, he's got plenty to keep him busy tomorrow."

Jesse saluted again as he moved past him through the door. He immediately turned back to Tess, pleading with his eyes. "Something  _happened,_  Tess. You've got to help me."

"Close the door, Lieutenant." She waited for the order to be obeyed. There was no question anymore if he would or would not - a far cry from the state of their interactions a year before. He closed it and returned to her desk, pacing back and forth.

"It wasn't anything I  _said,_  I'm pretty sure," he said, wringing his hands. "I mean, I didn't let anything slip, but he just seemed to  _know_  I would understand what he -"

"Come here," she beckoned, motioning him behind the desk with her. She waited until he recovered himself, stopping the flow of... words… and stepped up to her, looking faintly puzzled in the way that only he could quite manage. She grasped his arm firmly, turning him, and planted three stern swats on the seat of his pants. "Mind. Your. Manners," she reminded. "Surely you know to speak to my secretary first."

"I'm - I'm sorry," he said, abashed. "I wasn't thinking."

"Then stop and think now,  _please._  Do you need further assistance?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow at him.

He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. "No, ma'am. I think I can manage myself."

"See to it. Is this a discussion for this office, or a discussion for more private premises?"

"I think this would be fine, ma'am." He pressed his lips together. "I just needed to talk to you, if you can spare a few minutes."

"Then have a seat, Jesse," she said, changing the dynamic in the room. She indicated the visitors chair across her desk, and seated herself once he rounded the corner of her desk. "I have time. Go on, Lieutenant."

He caught himself before he started in on one of his nervous habits, which Tess had so painstakingly spanked out of him. "I was talking with Staff Sergeant Harding about Corporal Andrews. You might remember me mentioning him? The one with the smirk, who reminded me of... uh." He scratched his head sheepishly. "Me?"

"I see."

"Yeah." Jesse nodded. "He had another incident; insubordination and falling behind on his work. And we're down a Sgt. Major right now, so I had to deal with it."

The other eyebrow went up. "Define dealing with it."

"Well, that's the thing." Jesse knitted his brow. "When I called him into my office to discuss his behavior, he seemed... pretty aware of what he'd done. And he was clear that it was a punishable offense. It was what he  _said_  that surprised me."

"You know whatever you bring to me will remain in confidence - though I would ask you to consider whether you are breaking a confidence, in relating a conversation to me."

He shook his head. "I won't tell you the content of our conversation. But, Tess, he said..." He leaned forward. "It was something like, 'oh, man, you're right, my mama would have spanked the dickens out of me for that, I'm sorry, dude.'"

"At least you never referred to me directly as 'dude,' in my memory," Tess commented dryly. "Go on, sweetheart."

Jesse considered some of the more choice names he had used to refer to Tess in the past, before they had become friends, and suppressed a shudder.  _At least she never heard me say them aloud._  "Well... it just occurred to me that he could really benefit from... some help. Like the kind you gave me a year ago." He squirmed a little under her gaze. "And, uh, last week."

"I see. Jesse. How do you think you might determine whether this was a carelessly offhand remark from an insubordinate junior, or if it was a suggestion?"

He tried to consider this from the point of view of somebody who might know what the hell to do next. "I guess... I would watch him for a while, observe the way he interacts with his superior officers? And with his privates. Uh, I mean..." He chuckled. "You know what I mean. His subordinates."

"And so the panic that has you fleeing into my office without invitation, and letting your mind wander where it oughtn't? Is that justified, for that course of action?"

Jesse suppressed the self-doubt that immediately arose following the suggestion that he'd made a bad judgment. With reasonable efficiency, he was even able to turn off the negative voice that flowed through his mind, the words that said  _you're never going to amount to anything, you can't do this, why bother trying..._  He did all this within a few seconds' time, thanks to long practice and guidance from Tess, and looked at her expectantly. "I think - well, I guess I thought  _you_  might be able to help him."

"I don't know the boy, Jesse, and I'm not likely to encounter him in the course of my duties, unless he manages some spectacular accident. And it's very unusual for a junior officer to remand a low-ranked enlisted man to mentorship, at least to my mentorship."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right." He thought some more. "Well... is there anyone you might be able to, uh... refer him to?"

"Jesse," she said firmly. "We'll start with less "guessing" on your part, to begin. And we'll make that a disciplinary matter, for this conversation, shall we? Now then. You see clearly that this boy needs a mentor. You do not know whether or not disciplinary mentorship is warranted in this case. Now, I know you've seen a Gunny, or a Master Sergeant take a belt to a subordinate from time to time - old fashioned corporal punishment, fairly uncommon, but not unheard of."

"Occasionally," he agreed. "There are plenty of sergeants who would condone that kind of thing, but I still don't think they think about it quite the way  _you_  do, Tess."

"I agree. It's typically used as a short, sharp wake-up call." She regarded him wryly. "One that you managed to avoid yourself by being involved in an ROTC program. Now, I understand, since the matter has been remanded to your desk, that the sergeant isn't comfortable with that."

"I don't think she would consider it, no," he said, startled at the idea.

Tess nodded. "And you don't have a Sgt. Major to consider it. Will you consider it, yourself?"

Jesse blinked. He tilted his head, trying to make sense of her statement. "I don't follow you."

Tess coughed gently. "You do have the ability to utilize that unspoken tradition, Jesse. If he's standing at your desk, I suspect one of two things is true - either your sergeant is terribly ineffective, or your corporal is really needing something you haven't yet provided him. Either way, your verbal reprimand has failed. Therefore, you might take a belt to the boy, just as a Sgt. Major might - and by that I mean the next time that he turns up on your doorstep. If it's a critical problem, you'll see him again."

"You mean -  _me?_  Do  _that?"_  He stood again, taking a step toward her desk. "But... Tess, I'm a... I mean, I don't..."

"Is there another First Lieutenant Howell in the room?"

He looked down at his uniform for a moment, the silver bars on his collar, and tried to see himself through Corporal Andrew's eyes. "I - do you really think he'd take me seriously? He's a pretty big guy."

"Jesse. If his actions are that unbecoming a soldier, it's your responsibility. You outrank this man sixfold. If the chain of command has failed, up to the point that it has reached your desk, it is your  _responsibility._  Not just to take corrective action, but to instill a sense of respect in the man."

He nodded slowly, sinking back into his chair. "I gue- I mean, that makes sense." Then he considered the scene, imagining the brawny, 6'3" Andrews over his slim knee. He swallowed. "Pardon me, Tess, but... I just don't know if I could do that. I mean, I  _could._  But it seems so -"

"It's not any more difficult than asking the man to hand you his belt, and asking him to turn 'round and put his hands on the wall. Though you might discard the bdu uniform belt in favor of the leather one that you wear with your class A's."

That made him laugh. "I think I could manage a modification in uniform." He blinked again, and the scene swam into focus in his mind's eye, himself speaking sternly to the corporal, and the corporal's retort, and Jesse ordering him against the wall. The whole idea was completely ludicrous. And yet...

"I would recommend you wear Class A's, for a meeting like that."

"What? Oh - yes. Of course." He nibbled on his lower lip, still hesitating.

"Pay attention, Lieutenant," she ordered, voice sharp. "Is that task within your capability?"

"I could do it, ma'am," he nodded. "But..."

"Butts are for smacking," she suggested. "I'll give you that one for free. Keep thinking, there."

The old, familiar phrase settled him further. He reached for her hand across the desk. "Do  _you_  think I could really do that?"

Her grey eyes were steady as they gazed at him across the desk. "I believe you can take that responsibility, once you have determined carefully that it is necessary for you to do so."

He felt a little breathless, and more than a little like a fraud, at the idea, but her words buoyed his spirits, and he smiled. "You know, I think - maybe I really could."

"There is entirely too much prevarication in that sentence, young man. Part of that determination, Jesse, will involve you assessing how this man responds to you. Such prevarication on your part? Not acceptable, when it comes down to the line, at that moment."

He gulped. "Yes, ma'am. You're right. I - I won't do that when I talk to him."

"One final thing. If this turns out to not be within your capabilities, then you have a further responsibility. Which will be to remand the matter to Major Black. This is a perfectly acceptable course of action, in this case, Jesse."

Jesse wasn't sure at first why this sounded wrong to him, but eventually he puzzled it out. "I don't think I could do that, Tess," he said. "I mean, if I knew he needed...  _this._  I wouldn't be here today if you hadn't taken me in hand. I think I'd feel... well, obligated, I gue- um. I would. To make sure he got what he needed."

"That's an admirable sense of responsibility, Jesse," she said very gently. "You must endeavor to weigh all the options, and consider all possibilities. And as you encounter them, I'm happy to be here to discuss them with you. I don't expect this matter to be closed between the two of us. You are not alone." She tilted her head. "I will remind you that a chance remark on the Corporal's part does not mean that he needs what you do - but if you do take this course of action, I would be certain that he'll let you know in his actions afterwards if it  _is_ what he needs."

"Thank you, Tess," he said, feeling a wave of gratitude for her presence. "For everything. And especially for your confidence in me. I don't think I'd be able to see myself that way without you."

"You are very welcome, sweetheart. Are you through with your duties for the day?"

He nodded, rising from his chair again. "I'm all done until tomorrow morning."

"Sit back down," she suggested. "Have you plans for the evening?"

"Uh..." He sat, puzzled. "No, ma'am?"

"I believe I would like to take you home with me. You'll benefit from a spanking and a decent supper, for once."

Jesse flushed at the suggestion, knowing she didn't mean anything by it other than as his commanding officer and friend. He hadn't told her about any of the rest of it - not that it was all that uncommon for subordinates to have fantasies about their commanding officers, but he suspected that few of his fellow lieutenants had ever had dreams about Major Riordan in suggestive lingerie.

Tess clicked her fingers at him, seeing his attention wander. "Jesse."

He blinked, clearing his head. "Ma'am. I'd be honored to accompany you home."

"Excellent. I need to clear my desk, and walk the ward. You are welcome to wait here for me, or meet me here in forty minutes time. Now, the Audi is in the shop, I do have a staff car available for my use, but it won't look out of place for you to leave base with me, and return in the morning."

Jesse nodded. "Thank you. Do you want me to get the staff car and bring it around to pick you up?"

"That would be lovely, sweetheart." It earned him one of her softer smiles, along with the quiet words.

It wasn't that Jesse was any different a person when he left her office, exactly, compared to the one he'd been when he came in a half hour before. It was that the possibility of who he  _might be_ in the world had suddenly expanded by one role, one very simple and crucially important role.  _I could be... in charge._ He wasn't even sure he could do it, but in that moment, it didn't matter.  _Tess thinks I could,_  he told himself, smiling as he trotted down the steps of her building. And, for once, the voices in his head were silent.

* * *

**July 1991, Manhattan, NY**

Bebe's sister Rachel looked nothing like her, but they sounded almost exactly the same. Back when Rachel had lived at home, Davis would always get them confused when he called their house, even though Rachel was four years older than Bebe. He considered this now as he listened to her talking to her mother on the pay phone in the hallway outside the maternity ward.

"She's doing fine, Mom," Rachel said placatingly, tucking one stray blonde curl behind her ear. "She's not even fully dilated yet, and the doctor says he'll have the baby out by midnight."

Rachel had gotten the tall-and-slim genes, though she was a lot more skinny now than she'd been in high school. Bebe told Davis once that she suspected that might have something to do with why Rachel had never been able to get pregnant.  _She diets irresponsibly,_  she'd said, with more than a little envy in her tone. He had to admit, Rachel looked like a model. She had a devastating stage presence, but he'd never been as impressed with her singing. Apparently her directors weren't all that impressed, either, because she had only managed to land a series of swing roles and a few minor parts in her three years in New York.

"No, she refused an episiotomy," Rachel was saying, with a snort. "I don't know. Somebody told her it was bad for the baby or something."

Davis grinned to himself. Bebe had done her research, and she wasn't letting anybody tell her how this baby was coming out, no matter what was happening to it afterwards.  _I don't need any knives in my privates,_  she'd declared when the doctor had mentioned the procedure. It still made him blush just to think about it.

"Okay. I'll have her call you as soon as he's born. You don't have to worry. Shelby's got it totally under control."

Now he frowned. Nobody called her Shelby anymore, not since she'd been cast in the community theater production of  _A Chorus Line_  as the youngest girl in the lineup. She'd never cared much for her name, anyway, so she told all her friends to just call her by her character's name, Bebe. It didn't hurt that one of her most influential role models was Bebe Neuwirth, who'd once played Sheila in the Broadway production.

Davis had played the part of Mark Anthony in that same production of  _A Chorus Line_. It had been their first time doing  _real_  theater, not just something for school, and it had given them both confidence that they might actually be able to do what they'd dreamed of doing someday. The adults in the production had essentially adopted them both, giving them praise and criticism in equal measures, helping without coddling. Davis had ended the show with a lot less stage fright - and a lot more information about sex. He didn't think he and Bebe would have started having sex sophomore year at all if it hadn't been for that musical.

 _And she never would have gotten pregnant, and I never would have been waiting in this hospital for her to have a baby. Our baby._ He stood, running his sweaty hands over his knees.

"Sit back down, Davis," Rachel said. He sat.

"I just want to see her," he protested, but she shook her head firmly.

"She was very clear that she was going to do this alone. Don't even try to set foot in that door until she hollers for you."

"Yeah," he said, staring back down at his hands clasped between his knees. "You're right."

He felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm excited too, okay?" she said. "He's going to be my baby. You get to be Uncle Davis, and still finish high school. It's for the best."

 _People keep telling me that,_  he thought.  _So why am I so miserable?_

The doctor was right; the baby was born long before midnight. Davis was the first one through the door as soon as Bebe sent for them, with Rachel not far behind. Nathan, Rachel's husband, stood silently in the door, watching and waiting for Rachel to call for him.

Bebe was sweaty and pale-faced, but she was smiling, and the tiny baby she held looked content to be nursing. "Hey," she said, reaching for his hand.

"Hey," he echoed, gazing at the baby. "Wow. He looks... nothing like either of us."

She laughed. "I bet that will change as he gets a little less squashed. Here." She winced, pulling him off her breast, and held him up to be cradled. Awkwardly, Davis gathered the tiny bundle into his hands, marveling at his wispy light brown curls.

"Hi there," he whispered. "You're so little." He glanced over at Bebe, then at Rachel. "Does he have a name?"

"Jesse," Rachel said. "After our grandfather. We thought you should choose the middle name."

Davis smiled at her in surprise. "Uh... really? Wow." He stroked the tiny head, his fingers, the curve of his chin. "Could I name him after a saint? I guess I would like for him to have a piece of his Catholic heritage, even if he won't be Catholic."

"No, he'll be Jewish." Bebe looked annoyed. "Seriously, Davis, a Catholic saint? If you choose Gamelbert or something, I'll rescind my offer."

He gazed at the baby. "No, I was thinking... well, today's the feast day of Saint James. How about that?"

Rachel looked absolutely appalled. "Jesse James?  _No._ Absolutely not."

"Jesse  _Saint_ James," Davis hastily interjected. Rachel paused in her rant, considering.

"Okay," she agreed. "I can live with that."

They wanted to keep Bebe overnight in the hospital, because it was already so late, but they said she could have Jesse in bed with her, and in the morning she could go home. Rachel would visit him in the hospital after that and take on the parenting duties.

"You okay?" he asked Bebe, leaning his cheek on the bed rail, watching Jesse sleep.

"I think so," she said. "They said I shouldn't nurse, because it'll make the milk come in, but I couldn't resist giving him some colostrum. It's important for his immune system. I can deal with sore boobs."

He nodded. "Are you... okay, though? Giving him up?"

"Yeah." She nodded, touching his sleeping cheek. "He won't be far away. I can still be his aunt. That's about all I can handle right now anyway. I mean, we've got SATs to think about next year, and I'll be taking three APs. I could never be a mom."

He ran a finger over her left hand, the finger bearing his ring. "Do you think... maybe, someday... we might have more kids?"

Bebe was silent for a while. Finally she shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Okay."

Her eyes were huge and luminous. "You still want to be married to me? Even if we never have any more kids?"

"Oh - Bebe. Yeah. I do. I love you." She clasped his hand tight, and together, their joined hands were larger than the entire body of the baby sleeping beside her. "Don't ever worry about that."

She nodded once, and closed her eyes. Seconds later, she was asleep. He settled into the uncomfortable chair next to her bed to watch her, and his son, until morning.

* * *

**September 1991, Edgewater, CO**

Davis found Bebe in the choir room, hammering out Julie Jordan's part for "If I Loved You." He leaned on the piano, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes.

"It's not going to work," she said, refusing to look at him. "And anyway, I'm busy. Auditions for  _Carousel_ are next week, and if you think I'm a shoe-in with this post-baby tummy, you've got another thing coming. I'm going to have to be better than  _everyone."_

"You're already better than everyone." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "And you're still prettier than Tyra or Dawn or any of the other girls who're likely to be trying out for the part of Julie. There's nothing in the script about her being skinny."

She tightened her lips. "Yeah. And I'm sure that excuse will go over very well with the director. She already doesn't like me."

"That's just because you're more talented than she is," he pointed out. "And she knows it."

Bebe gave him a reluctant grin. "Okay, maybe." She fought to regain her grumpy momentum. "Don't think this means I'm going to say yes."

"Do I need to give you the list of reasons why the University of Michigan is perfect for us?" He turned on the puppy-dog face again, but she shielded her eyes. He took this as permission to continue, and began numbering his fingers. "Excellent reputation. Well rounded programs, pre-law and musical theater and dance - well, reasonably good dance. Far away from  _your mother._  Closer to Rachel and Nathan and Jesse. Do I need to go on?"

"Please, don't." She slid down the bench toward the upper half of the keyboard, and Davis sat down next to her. He took her hand.

"You're smart," he said. "And talented. And we  _need_  to get out of this town. We're in the middle of nowhere."

Bebe didn't refute any of this. "But  _Michigan?_  It's  _still_ the middle of nowhere."

"Not true," he protested. "Four hours from Chicago, one from Detroit, five from Toronto, six from Cincinnati, ten from  _New York City_." He tilted his head at her. "Come on. Just apply with me, okay? See what happens. If we get good financial aid, we can schedule a visit and you can audition."

She sighed. "You're not going to give up on this, are you? Because I know you, Davis. When you get a hold of an idea, you don't let it go."

"Nope." He grinned. "So, you gonna?"

"Fine. I'll do it. Are you going to let me rehearse now?"

"Of course, Mrs. Corcoran." He kissed her cheek, ignoring her huff of irritation, and scooted off the bench.

She didn't watch him leave, but when he was almost to the door, she added, "I'll see you at home, after volleyball practice."

Their tiny apartment was seriously in need of new carpeting and an updated refrigerator, but it was theirs. And, now that they were married, there wasn't any way Bebe's mother could stand in their way of them sleeping in the same room anymore. "I'll make dinner," he said. "Any requests?"

"Anything but ramen," she replied absently, thumbing through her music. "And for God's sake, add salt to the vegetables this time."

Davis smiled. "Yes, dear."

* * *

**August 1993, future site of Tessera, IA**

Tess watched Jesse wield the sander with barely veiled pride. Officially, they'd been working on renovating her father's building that year, but she really felt pleased with her boy's progress in more important areas. It was clear he still had a lot to learn about being a successful Top, but that was simply a matter of experience, and would come with time. He was showing promise in all the areas that really counted, in any case, and she knew he had the heart for it.

But she could also sense the tension inside him, the anxiety that was building up as the summer drew to a close. It was near the end of a particularly back-breaking day of refinishing the floor in the ballroom, coupled with Tess providing him with sample scenarios of difficulties he might encounter in the course of dealing with clients, when Jesse's confidence finally slipped. He heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Tess - I might as well forget the whole thing. I'm  _never_  going to be able to handle being a good Top."

Tess looked at him, on his hands and knees, and decided she'd had enough of the whining. She reached forward as he set the sander down, loaded with fresh sandpaper, and brought down a tremendous swat across his backside.

He flinched back, giving her the most pathetic hurt look. "Hey! What was that for?"

"We've discussed the concept of 'never' before, Jesse," she reminded him. "And  _do_  you tell me to "forget it"?"

"No, ma'am," he muttered. "I just - there's no way I could ever be responsible for another human being like that."

"Jesse," she said calmly. "You've been responsible for me before, honey."

She thought it was lucky he'd put the sander down, because at this point, he would have dropped it. "What?" he sputtered. "When have I ever - with  _you?"_

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Our vacation, earlier this summer? I don't recall even wanting to direct you, in that penitent's cell, once I got you to relax."

"Tess, that's not what I'm talking about. Come on. Just look at me." Jesse indicated himself, spattered with paint, his denim sleeveless shirt barely containing the muscles that years in service had put on his lean body. The frustration on his face was clear. "I can barely handle  _myself._  How would I manage to take care of somebody else, the way - the way  _you_  do?"

Tess leaned over, sweeping a hand up through the perspiration on his arm, and cupping the back of his damp head. She knelt in front of him, and pushed him back against the wall, easily straddling him. She was just as soaked with sweat, her dark hair slick with it, olive green t-shirt clinging to her breasts. Tess didn't say anything more, just pressed in a very, very serious kiss, and she lessened the pressure, bit by bit, luring him forward. He responded instantly, melting into her insistent embrace, moaning softly.

Tess continued to lean a little further, until she was quite in danger of losing her balance, but he caught her around the waist and held her securely. "I've got you," he whispered into her mouth. "What do you want with me?"

Tess had no reply for him, she just arched her head back, and a little noise escaped her. Jesse's own noise echoed hers seconds later, and he buried his lips into the curve of her neck.

She twisted suggestively in his arms, pelvis reaching up for him. "Jesse," she whispered, letting herself cling to him.

"Yes, love?"

"Please..." She licked a little at his lips, hands twining into his hair, though she wasn't putting any pressure into the grip.

"Anything," Jesse begged. "Tell me what you want."

"Just you," she whispered, writhing a little in his strong hands. "Please," she repeated, closing her eyes.

He ran his eyes over her body, his hands following close after, stroking down the length of her thighs and back up the center of her, pressing the palm of his hand against her through her pants. She shivered under his attention.

"Oh yes, please..."

"God," he muttered, and with one hand fumbled at the button on her pants, carefully laying her down on the sawdust-strewn floor. "Anything for you. You're so hot like this."

Tess actually whimpered, pulling him a little closer. "Show me," she ordered. "I want to know what you want to do-" The last word had an octave break in it, as his fingers slipped inside of her.

"I'm going to," he growled, leaning over her, giving her the pressure she craved. He knew her so well. "You can bet I'm going to drive you crazy, right here - right now."

"Bring it," she hissed in his ear. Her nails raked down the back of his neck, lightly. That broke his concentration for a moment, as she'd expected, and he whimpered, the rhythm of his fingers stuttering inside her, but he got it back together quick enough. She felt another thrill of pride in him. "You know what I need. I want it, Jesse, I want it right now."

She could say one thing about her boy. When he promised something, he delivered. The combination of two fingers inside and his thumb on the top made her head spin, and she was quickly reduced to wordless cries of encouragement. "Can you feel that?" he breathed, pressing against her thigh as he watched her writhe beneath him. "How much I want you?"

Tess would have perhaps liked to reply, but she couldn't. All that came to her was a long, passionate moan. Her eyelashes fluttered at him as she caught her breath, reaching up to him with crushing need. What her boy could do to her... He claimed her mouth, forcing her back against the floor, his hand carefully cradling her head. "That's it...  _just_  like that."

She was so close, the rhythm of her hips bucking desperately under his fingers. "Oh god, please," she gasped, trying to hang onto her thoughts, under the heavy pressure of the impending orgasm, and the rich sensation of her love for her boy.

"I've got you," he said, smiling as she gave way to the flood of her release. "So beautiful... god, Tess, I love you."

"I love you too, Carl Jesse." She let her head rest in the cup of his hand, breathing heavily for a moment, before she was able to reorient her thoughts following the powerful orgasm.

He made a face, laughing quietly. "Jeez. Hearing my  _dad's_  name, at a moment like this... really?"

She reached around and patted his behind very gently. "It's  _your_  name, lover. Thank you, dearest. Can I ask you something?" She leaned forward and kissed him very tentatively, gazing at him almost shyly.

"Of course." He looked curious.

Tess huddled into his strong arms, feeling them tighten without prompting about her, enjoying the sensation of laying her head on his shoulder. "Who was in charge, just now, honey?"

He blinked. "You... uh. I guess... me?" She laughed as he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. That doesn't sound very  _in charge_  of me."

"I think that was  _very in charge_  of you, honey. Did I ask you for anything, other than your attention, and your love? Who knew what I wanted? I'm not always certain what I want, when we... in moments like that," she said, flushing slightly.

"Oh, Tess." He shook his head. "You're so easy to read. I can tell exactly what you need. You tell me with every movement, every sound. It's just - clear."

She made certain to lean forward and kiss him, before she let the suppressed laughter free. "Thank you for that, sweetheart. And yet it's a terrible shock to you, any time you've misbehaved, and I've called you on the behaviour. How is it that you were so startled and doe-eyed when I swatted you just a little while ago? Was that an act?"

"No!" He looked a little offended. "I don't - there's no acting with you, Tess." He leaned back on his heels, sighing. "But it's not that kind of  _in charge_  that's freaking me out. It's being responsible for another person, for more than just their pleasure. When you... " He averted his eyes, flushing. " _Spank_  me. When you do that, I'm helpless. I can trust you to take care of everything. And what if I can't do that for somebody else?"

"Is my pleasure not a responsibility?" She looked a little startled.

"No way," he responded, immediately and passionately. "It's... a privilege."

Tess looked away, concealing how moved she was by this statement. "And how is a privilege different from responsibility?"

"It's just different." He was silent for a moment, his brow knitted in the most appealing little frown. "Are you saying... when you're taking care of someone, when they're putting everything into your hands, that you...  _want_ that?"

"It is a privilege, love, and I treat it that way. For someone to trust me so much that they put everything into my hands, as you say? I find that to be one of the highest honors granted to me."

"But..." He swallowed. "If you mess up during sex, that's one thing. If you mess up with... someone's body? With their heart? Their livelihood? What then?"

"I don't see a difference, sweetheart," she told him, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "When you first came to me, did that risk your livelihood, in the Army? And sex... it is still necessary to have deep respect and honor for someone's body, during sex, just as it is during a disciplinary session."

He nodded soberly. "I guess..."

"May I tell you something personal, Carl Jesse?" She deliberately used both names again, after seeing his earlier discomfort. He always did think more clearly when he was on the edge.

He nodded again. "Sure. Of course."

"And I will require your confidence, please, this is personal, and it's not to be discussed, unless it is between you and me, or perhaps you and my father."

"Uh..." He stretched out beside her on the unfinished floor, leaning on one elbow. "Okay, yeah. I won't say anything."

"Hmm," She mused. She'd been hoping for a stronger response from him, but his word was honorable, she knew that. It wasn't easy to think of it, but... she took a deep breath. "So. When I was fifteen... do you suppose my step-father honored my body, when he used it?"

The words hit him like a slap, and he jerked back from her, eyes wide. "He... what?"

Tess in turn winced back from him, inadvertently. She remained silent as he gathered her close. "Oh... Tess," he breathed unhappily. "God... I had no idea,  _really."_ She could do nothing but sit rigid in his arms, tense and probably more sad than he'd ever seen her, and shivered ever so slightly. After a pause, he sighed, and sat up, tugging her into his lap. "Come here. It's all right. I'm listening."

"You don't need to listen; not about that," she told him sturdily, refusing to relax into him. "Someone's already listened, it's all right. It was a long time ago. But when you... when you love me, that way - are you not attentive to me, and to my needs? Focused on me?"

"But, Tess, it's  _you._  It's easy. I don't think I could do that with..." He looked away. "Well... with anyone else."

"Honey, when you're paying attention to me, you're very, very good in knowing what it is that I need - and even better about making certain that I have what I need. But if you're thinking about yourself, you fail - each and every time. Perhaps you might think about that." She kissed both his eyelids.

"Huh." He smiled faintly at the touch of her lips. "Maybe you're right." Then he opened one eye, hopefully. "You really think I can do this?"

"I really think you can do this, my love. And no, you may not practice on me."

The laugh she elicited from him was genuine, and she smiled back, relaxing at last into his arms. "You - no. I don't think I  _could_  do that with you." His eyes grew thoughtful.

"I'm certain we can find you a willing victim," she chuckled. "But..." Tess was very, very careful with her phrasing. "I don't suppose you'd like to just sit with me for a while, like this?" She shifted in his lap, watching carefully for any hesitation or insecurity.

"Of course," was his response, and the way he moved immediately to accommodate her body. "Whatever you need."

She leaned into him with a sigh, enjoying the safety of his arms. And then smirked up at him. "We might want to be a little careful, though. You know my father is on site today, hmm?"

Carl's answering smirk was topped only by his strong arms around her. "I think I can handle it."

"Oh,  _really,_ " she said, glancing over his shoulder at her father, who was leaning in the doorway. He put one finger to his lips, then crossed his arms, just waiting.

"Hey, if you think I can, then what better way to start?" She hadn't thought it was possible to swagger while sitting on the floor, but somehow he managed it.

A genuine grin broke out on her beautiful face. "And how would you like to start?"

"Mmm," he purred. "I think I'd like you on this floor again, only this time on your knees."

A gentle, masculine cough came from the doorway, and Carl froze. A deep voice followed. "And remind me again what the traditional penalties are for an employee who's messing about with the boss' daughter?"

For a moment she thought he might drop her right onto her ass in his haste to stand and face the older Marine. She brought herself to a neat tailor's seat, looking up at her father. Beau's arms were crossed over his broad chest, and though he was doing nothing but leaning up against the door frame, he looked dangerous.

"Sir," he said, taking a deep breath, and he didn't let go of Tess's hand. "I only have two more days, sir, before I leave for dental school at the University of Michigan. Perhaps... early termination might be your best option?"

"It's not one of  _your_  options, boy. I see a floor that needs sanding. Both of you would be well advised to put in another hour or so of work here. James is starting supper, and I'll send Stephen up to find you. And for the love of God," Beau added with a shake of his head. "He'd best find you working, because if I have to talk that brat down from another anxiety attack there'll be hell to pay."

"Sir, yes sir," Carl said, snapping him a crisp salute.

"Excellent. Tessa," Beau said, and she didn't bother to answer him, just smiled up, her eyes sparkling, knowing it would get to her adoptive father. She handed the sander back to Carl, and finally stood herself, reaching for the broom to begin sweeping up the sawdust from the big room, where they'd finally reached the last the last couple of square feet at the very end of the enormous floor.

* * *

**September 1993, Ann Arbor, MI**

Carl had been surprised to discover that September in southern Michigan was significantly warmer than September in northern California. It certainly wasn't as humid as it had been that summer in Iowa. He wasn't sure about the tight  _US Army_ t-shirt he'd chosen to wear, but Stephen had assured him it looked hot on him, so he tried not to worry too much about his fashion choices.

Judging by her elevated respiration and heart rate, at least, the barista behind the counter seemed to agree with Stephen.  _I've been doing too much clinical assessment,_  he thought ruefully, giving her his sunniest smile.

That wasn't the only kind of assessment he was doing: she responded as he expected, flushing and glancing away as she took his order for iced coffee with cream.  _Sub. Maybe not aware of it, but definitely a sub._  It was almost second nature, now, to look for those tendencies.

He browsed the community bulletin board by the door as he waited for his coffee. It was crammed from edge to edge with invitations, performances, clubs and events.  _Get involved,_  Tess had advised.  _You need to find a home in your new location. Meet your tribe._

Whoever the hell that was. It had been years now since he'd tried to be a civilian. And Carl couldn't help but feel  _old_ , returning to college after his time in the service. This town seemed full of kids barely in their twenties, while he was already pushing thirty.

He wasn't much of a follower, so joining something in the first place was a little out of character for him. Whatever he chose, it was going to have to be something a little off the beaten path. He didn't even know what half of these things were. Archery club? Morris dancing? Anime? He ran his fingers over a poster for auditions for an upcoming operetta, which was apparently called The Pirates of Penzance.

"You a Gilbert and Sullivan aficionado?" said a sultry voice.

It was different enough from Tess' that he didn't start, but similar enough that he bothered to give her a close look. The similarities didn't end with her voice. The girl was one of those ubiquitous young co-eds, but she was anything but ordinary. She had dark, wavy hair and a pretty face, with arresting wide eyes and a compelling smile.

He found himself smiling back. "Never heard of them," he admitted.

"Really. You don't know Pirates of Penzance? There's a terrible movie with Kevin Kline and Linda Ronstadt playing the leads. I figured everybody had caught that on late-night cable at least once."

"Sorry," he said cheerfully. "I don't watch much television, except for football. But an opera about pirates doesn't sound bad."

"It's comic opera," she clarified, leaning against the counter. "Hilarious, in its own way. I'm auditioning for Ruth, the alto lead."

"A singer, huh?" He looked her up and down. There was no way she could have interpreted that as anything but a come-on, but she didn't react. He broadened his smile. "Well, I play drums, and guitar, and sing a little, but I'm not much for opera."

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," she teased. "My husband and I got involved when we were freshmen because we'd heard it was almost impossible to get cast in a leading role in the university musicals until you were a junior. I got a supporting role in my first show with the Gilbert and Sullivan folks. And the costumes are to die for."

"Mmmmm." He let his eyes twinkle at her. "I bet I'd have to wear tights."

"Probably. What, would that be a problem for you? Are you that insecure in your masculinity?"

Carl laughed outright at that. "Can't say anyone's ever accused me of  _that."_  He held out his hand. "Je- uh, Carl Howell."

"Bebe Corcoran," she replied, smiling briskly. "You're new in town?"

"Just starting this fall in the dentistry school. And is it that obvious that I'm not from around here?"

"Mmmm... might be your tan," she said, tapping her lips with one finger, "or your US Army t-shirt. Or simply the fact that I'm sure I'd remember you if I'd seen you before."

He raised one eyebrow.  _Young married women hitting on me. Not sure what to do with that._  "Happy to be seen."

"You'd make a great Pirate King." She reached out and took her drink, covered with whipped cream, and gave a little wave. "Nice to meet you, Carl."

"Likewise," he called, as she headed out the door. Through the windows in front, he watched her approach a tall, handsome blonde boy and offer him a sip of her drink. He shook his head.

 _Dangerous,_  was what Carl thought, but he ripped a tear-off tab listing the audition time off the bottom of the poster anyway.

That night he rented  _The Pirates of Penzance_  on VHS and watched it on his tiny television. It was much sillier than he'd expected. He was completely entranced by Kevin Kline's portrayal of the pirate king. He found himself singing along, and by the time he'd watched the opening scene for the third time, he knew the lyrics by heart.

"Why not?" he murmured. "What the hell."

Regardless of how warm the weather was, he decided to wear a long-sleeved white shirt to the audition, along with a pair of black pants that he knew showed off his ass to its best advantage. It was subtle enough that nobody could accuse him of attempting to dress like a pirate, but perhaps it would convey a sense of character.

He saw Bebe right away, talking in the corner to the tall blonde man, and once she saw him, she approached him right away with an approving smile.

"If it isn't Carl the dentist," she said. "I didn't think you'd show."

"Student dentist," he corrected. "And I couldn't resist, once I saw the movie. Kevin Kline's fantastic."

She introduced him to the blonde guy, who looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I'm Davis," he said.

"Bebe was kind enough to tell me about the audition," said Carl, with a shrug, "but I've never done anything like this before."

Davis nodded. "Well, the director likes enthusiasm. Even if you're not a great singer, you can still make it into the chorus if you're loud and obnoxious."

"Hey, I'm good at loud and obnoxious," Carl said, grinning. "But no chorus for me. I'm going for the Pirate King."

Davis gave him a dubious stare. "You aim high, for somebody who's new to theater."

"I pretty much do everything that way," he agreed. "If I'm going to fail, it might as well be spectacularly."

Carl tried to take Davis' advice as faithfully as possible. When he strode out on stage, and the director asked for his name, he put on his most confident smile and gave a little bow. "Carl Howell," he said, letting the new name ring out across the auditorium.

The accompanist played the song too slowly, but he tried not to let it throw him, uncertain if he could ask to stop and begin again. Better to pretend that nothing was wrong, and assume no one else would notice. He waved his hand and gestured imperiously and threw his head back with his hands on his hips, knowing he'd come off arrogant and grandiose - which was exactly what he was going for. At the end, there was unexpected applause from the scattered audience. It felt surprisingly good.

Bebe grabbed his arm as he came off stage. "You lied to me," she accused. "There's no way you've never done theater before."

An image of himself in military uniform, brandishing his new heavy leather tawse and working through an intricate role-play with Stephen, came into his mind. He smirked. "Well, I've performed," he said. "But not theater like you're talking about."

She shook her head. "Well, that just about blew my mind. If you don't get the part, I think I may cry."

"I'll be there to hand you my handkerchief," he offered, making her giggle.

 _What are you doing, Jesse?_  he asked himself.  _You let this go any further and you're going to need to call Tess up for a spanking._

Carl decided it might be better to find a seat in the auditorium by himself and watch the rest of the auditions from a safe distance. The quality of voices and stage presence of the students auditioning were mixed, but Bebe was excellent in every way. She was completely hilarious in the part of Ruth, rolling her eyes and wringing her hands. Davis played Frederick opposite her. He was a little stiff, but played the straight man with good humor, and when it was his turn to sing, Carl was pleasantly surprised.

"He's pretty good," he said to Bebe, who'd slid into the seat next to him. She apparently wasn't going to leave him alone. "Pretty damn good, really."

"You should see him dance," she said with a smile. "He's a passable singer, but his real talent is dancing. And he looks  _great_  in tights."

"I'm sure you're right," Carl agreed, as noncommittally as he could manage. He knew he wasn't in California anymore, no matter how liberal Ann Arbor was supposed to be, and while he'd never in his life pretended to be straight, he wasn't about to go prancing around in a new city with a rainbow flag across his chest, either. And anyway, Davis might be a hot young thing, but he was also married.  _And so was his wife._

The director dismissed most of the students auditioning, then drew in in the remaining handful to cluster around the piano and read from the libretto. "Okay, Bebe," she said, "you read Ruth's part on page four, here. Davis, you take Frederic, and... you in the white shirt, read the Pirate King."

"And Ruth, your own Ruth, whom you love so well, and who has won her middle-aged way into your boyish heart," cried Bebe to Davis, putting on exaggerated passion, "what is to become of her?"

Carl took Bebe's hands and put them on top of Davis'. "Oh, he will take you with him."

Davis frowned theatrically. "Well, Ruth, I feel some difficulty about you. It is true that I admire you very much, but I have been constantly at sea since I was eight years old, and yours is

the only woman's face I have seen during that time. I _think_  it is a sweet face."

Bebe fluttered her eyelashes at him. "It is - oh, it is!"

"What a terrible thing it would be if I were to marry this innocent person," Davis went on, with a woeful grimace, "and then find out that she is, on the whole, plain!"

Carl had to chuckle. Bebe was one of the prettiest girls he'd ever met - and there had been plenty of them, before Tess. She was going to need some heavy makeup if she wanted to be cast as a plain-faced character. "Oh, Ruth is very well, very well indeed," he insisted.

"Do you really think so?" Davis said, cocking his head at Bebe.

"I do," Carl said.

"Then I will not be so selfish as to take her from you. In justice to her, and in consideration for you, I will leave her behind." He took Bebe's hands and put them back into Carl's, patting them firmly.

She gazed up at him in feigned horror, but for a moment Carl could only smile stupidly back at her, looking into her wide eyes.  _Hey, thanks, man,_  he almost said to Davis. Then he recovered himself, and stammered, only half-acting, "No, Frederic, this must not be. We are rough men, who lead a rough life, but we are not so utterly heartless as to deprive thee of thy love. I think I am right in saying that there is not one here who would rob thee of this inestimable treasure for all the world holds dear." He placed Bebe's hands back into Davis' with a nod.

"That'll do," said the director with satisfaction. "Bebe, you'll be the prettiest Ruth I've ever cast, but I'll manage. Davis, you're Frederic. And... what was your name?"

"Carl," said Bebe, before he could speak up, her hands still clasped in Davis', and grinned. "Carl the dentist."

"Carl the dentist," echoed the director. "You're our Pirate King."

* * *

Carl wasn't at all sure what to do when Bebe invited him out for coffee afterwards, especially considering Davis was standing right there when she did it. But Davis didn't look upset, exactly. He was just waiting for Bebe, happy to follow her lead.  _Wait a minute._..

"Coffee?" he said. "Well. Sure, why not."

They walked across the quad toward South University, making small talk. Carl learned Bebe and Davis were from the same town in Colorado and had suffered from big-fish-small-pond syndrome. "My sister lives in New York and is performing on Broadway," Bebe said. "Well, off-Broadway. I'm planning to do the same as soon as I graduate."

"And what about you?" Carl said to Davis politely. "Big dreams, too?"

"Maybe," Davis said. He walked a few steps behind Bebe, seeming content with that. "I'm really enjoying my US government and civics classes."

"Davis is pre-law," Bebe explained, taking his arm. "He's definitely the smart one in the family."

Carl figured it would be inappropriate of him to make any mention of Davis' pretty-boy good looks at this point, so he just shrugged and smiled. "I always preferred hard sciences to social sciences, myself. I considered going for medical school after my , but really, at my age, another five to eight years of school just seemed like unnecessary torture. T- uh, my friend helped me settle on dentistry."

Davis held the door for Bebe and Carl, then followed them into the coffee shop. They ordered their drinks, then found a seat on the couches. Carl made small talk, but he mostly stayed quiet, watching Davis and Bebe more closely, his suspicion beginning to grow into certainty.  _He's deferring to her about everything. Even his responses are textbook._

He tried not to be too obvious in his examination, but Bebe was apparently too astute to allow that. When Davis went to the restroom, she moved in next to him on the couch.

"Are you cruising my husband?" she asked, a quizzical smile on her face.

"No!" Carl protested, laughing. "He's not my type." This was a total lie, but he absolutely wasn't ready to go there. "Anyway – last time I checked, he was  _married."_

"Yeah, we are." Bebe smirked. "It's not stopping me from flirting with you, is it?"

"No." He eyed her. "What's that about, anyway?"

She shrugged, the motion doing interesting things to her anatomy. "Davis wants me to be happy. He wouldn't stop me, if I wanted… something."

"Something, huh?" Carl considered the possibility, propping a foot up on his knee. "So you're telling me you have an open relationship."

"Something like that." Her smile was teasing now. "He's my best friend. He'd never deny me anything." She placed a hand on his thigh. It was warm and inviting, and Carl shifted under the touch.

"You think if he came out of the restroom right now, and saw you doing this, that he'd be okay with that?"

She moved in a fraction closer, gazing into his eyes. "Want to find out?"

He cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes. "Well, Bebe, there are a lot of things I do, but one thing I don't do is play games with  _anybody's_  feelings." He deliberately drew his leg away, letting her hand fall to the couch. "Including those belonging to cute girls' husbands."

Bebe stared at her own hand for a moment, then returned to his face, new respect in her eyes. "I'd be curious to know more about the  _lot of things._ But, first… all right. We can do it this way. Better, probably."

When Davis returned, she reached for his hand and patted the couch next to her. He sat down obligingly. "Honey," she said sweetly, tucking his hand under her arm, "Carl here would like to take me home."

Carl almost spit out his mouthful of coffee. Davis looked back and forth between the two of them, uncertain. "Uh…"

"I told him you wouldn't mind." Her head leaned on his arm, and she gazed up at him with a smile. "Because you love me, and you want me to be happy."

"Of course." His expression smoothed out. His smile seemed relieved, and completely genuine. "It's – fine. Whatever you want."

 _Jesus._ Carl just stared at Davis, trying not to imagine him in a collar and chains.  _How submissive can you get?_  Bebe kissed his cheek, beaming up at him. Then she turned back to Carl, satisfaction evident on her face.

"Your move," she murmured, and put her hand back on his thigh, a little higher up this time.

Carl thought fast. He figured there were a couple different courses of action here. One was for him to remove himself from the situation entirely and hightail it home. The idea wasn't very practical, though, especially considering it looked like he was going to be in an operetta with these two young nutcases.

Another was for him to go along with the way she was leading, to smile and let her let him take her home. To bed her, probably, and maybe follow it up with another visit sometime. Because it was clear she was used to being in charge of the situation, with Davis, and probably with everyone. It would feel comfortable to Carl, too, because really, that had been his own situation for the past couple years: Tess had led, and he'd followed.

Until recently. Until he'd claimed this new identity, had made the laborious, terrifying transition from  _Jesse_  to  _Carl,_  from letting other people make choices for him to being in charge of his own life. It had been his decision, and he liked it, liked how it felt. But it meant taking risks. It meant following his instincts, and pushing the envelope, sometimes.

And, really, Bebe seemed like she could handle a little  _pushing._

He took her hand and turned it over, so it lay palm-up on his lap, then interlaced her fingers with his own. "Well," he said, with an intimate smile for Davis, "you're very kind to offer her to me, Davis. She's lovely, really. But I should be clear about my own role here. If you're looking for something… ordinary... a random hook-up, you would do well to look elsewhere. Because the things I enjoy are far from ordinary." He turned to Bebe, enjoying the confusion on her face. "You'd better consider that before you start making offers on which you can't deliver."

Carl took a card from his pocket and passed it to Davis. "But… well, I'll give you time to think it through. Discuss it." He offered his hand, and Davis, without thinking, shook it. "And don't hesitate to call me, if you decide this is what the two of you… need."

He rose, giving them a nod. "See you at rehearsal, Bebe. Davis."

Carl strode out the door, not rushing, and not looking back. He knew they would be examining the business card, reading the white print on the black background:  _Carl Howell, Professional Dom. Consulting, Discipline, Men/Women/Couples._ The phone number rang through a service Tess had helped him set up.

 _You need to start somewhere, Jesse,_  she'd said,  _and you might as well start by looking respectable. If you don't have your reputation, you don't have anything._

So Bebe was accustomed to getting what she wanted. It wouldn't have even occurred to him to pass on the card if he hadn't spotted Davis' natural submissive tendencies. Maybe Bebe already recognized them too; maybe she didn't. Either way, a little awareness could go a long way to giving Davis what he might need.


End file.
